Margaret the Queen

by Nigel Tranter

  So the sport and vigorous merriment proceeded merrily, the monks joining in, a cheerful lot, indeed leading in much of it, for of course they had more practice than the others. Madach and Maldred were glad to find Kerald there, along with others from the main St. Serf's abbey at Culross, and the three brothers made a formidable team, happily incorporating Magda into their group. They would have included Margaret, but she was pre-empted, the King proving quite expert at getting her to himself, especially in the sledging, with most of the sledges only holding two people. No doubt this had not escaped his anticipation in organising the affair.

  Maldred's preoccupation with this situation was somewhat ameliorated by a growing awareness of his brothers' interest and admiration in Magdalen, which he began to feel was in danger of becoming excessive, and due to be countered. He tried to involve them with Christina, but with scant reaction on either side.

  Madach did manage to detach Magda and swept her off on a sledge-run round the islands, allowing Kerald to have a private word with his older brother.

  "The Abbot told me a strange matter," he confided. "At Culross. He said that the King sent for him. Soon after we were gone to Atholl. Asking him privily if there were relationships where the Church said that men and women should not marry? Cousins, in any degree. The Abbot told him not so, not in the Celtic Church. He said that the Romish Church frowned upon cousinship in marriage, but not the followers of Columba. The King said that he knew about the Roman Church and that he had spoken with a Romish priest — it would be that Oswald, with the Athelings — who had told him that marriage between cousins was no true marriage and could be annulled. He asked if this was not possible in our own Church."

  "So-o-o! Ingebiorg was his cousin, as she was ours."

  "Yes. The Abbot said no. That a marriage of cousins celebrated in the Columban Church — as was Malcolm's — was true marriage, perfectly lawful, and could not be annulled or set aside."

  The brothers stared at each other.

  "So — your Abbot may unwittingly have written the Queen's death-warrant," Maldred got out, after a moment. "It... it need not mean that." "No. But. . ."

  "There is no cousinship with this Margaret?"

  "None. They are not related. How could they be?"

  After that, Maldred found himself actually avoiding any close contact with the King instead of seeking an interview, private or otherwise. Which he realised was foolish, for there was nothing that he could do about it, no means whereby he could alter the situation — even if he had call to, or if it was any responsibility of his. However, he did have opportunity to speak with Margaret herself thereafter, although not alone of course. At the repast on the ice, as the short day faded, with hot soup for all, oxen roasted whole on the bonfires, and folk stamping their feet as they ate, the King had to present prizes for the various competitions, races and contests — which took some little time. Margaret stood well back, while this was going on — and Maldred and Magda moved forward.

  "You have won no prizes, Maldred?" the princess asked, lightly. "I thought that I saw you doing well? But perhaps you have been too busy esquiring this young woman of mine?"

  "I would not have thought that you would have noticed!" Magda returned quickly.

  Maldred coughed. "We have had a good day, yes. My brother Madach, as eldest, will go for the prizes. And you, Princess?"

  "I also have been well esquired."

  "Yes. To be sure." He considered his steaming rib of beef. "It is all good cheer, much merriment. But scarcely right, I think. Suitable. When we should still be mourning the Queen."

  "I agree with you," Margaret said simply.

  "Yet all this is, is. . ."

  "Done for my entertainment? I know it, Maldred. Or for my family's. The King is kind. I do not desire it. But I cannot refuse to partake of what he offers. We are his guests, dependent upon him wholly."

  "He may offer more!"

  "He has much to offer, yes. Not only for myself." "That could be dear bought." She nodded.

  "You so God-fearing. Could this be God's will?" "It could be. God could be pointing me my duty." "Duty! In this?"

  "Why not? Christian duties are not always for our enjoyment. There could be much here that even such as I could do to further Christ's cause."

  "I say that it is not right. He is a violent man."

  "Was not the Blessed Peter?"

  "It was not a woman who tamed Peter!"

  "No. Perhaps that was presumptuous. But — I might do lesser things."

  "The Queen tried — and failed!"

  She looked at him searchingly. "You were fond of the Queen, Maldred? I did not gain her friendship, I fear. She was a woman of some strength, able. And comely. Why did she fail?"

  "She failed nothing, as Queen. Only in this of changing the King, of taming his violence."

  "You speak so of your prince and kinsman?" she said, troubled.

  "Not to all. But to you, it is different. I know him. Have served him since a boy. He has good in him, too. He is valiant, can be generous. Is not proud as some great ones are proud. But he has a, a savagery. Like a lion untamed. I tell you..."

  The King was turning from his prize-giving and coming back. Maldred swallowed his words.

  "God be thanked that is done with!" Malcolm declared. "Ha, Maldred — I see little of you these days."

  The young man gulped. "You seldom seem to need me. I am ever at Your Highness's service — if required."

  "Aye, you are, boy, you are indeed! As are all. I do not forget it, never fear!" He turned to Margaret. "You are not cold? The sun has gone. Time that we were on our way. We shall have the torches again..."

  6

  IT WAS ONLY a few days later that the King sent for Maldred. The young man found him for once free of Athelings, closeted with Gillibride of Angus and Hugh O'Beolain, drinking deeply of ale.

  "Aye, cousin," he greeted, "my standard-bearer and esquire — who does little of standard-bearing and prefers to esquire ladies, I swear! How old are you now, Maldred mac Melmore?"

  "I will be nineteen years next month, Highness."

  "So advanced! Old enough to use your wits, then. And old enough to be a knight, I think, and done with this esquiring. How say you?"

  Maldred, surprised, took his time to answer that. Knighthood he had wanted, coveted, for long, the accolade of manhood as well as of chivalry and leadership, a status longed for by all young men of noble houses. But he was suspicious as to why Malcolm should offer this privilege at this juncture, when they were scarcely on the best of terms. Also, he had certain finicking doubts as to the rectitude of accepting the honour at the hands of one whom he suspected of wife-murder.

  "It is my hope to win knighthood one day, my lord King," he said cautiously.

  "Then this is the day, lad — or tomorrow, since you must needs keep your vigil first. Tomorrow, before you go.’

  ‘Go?’

  "Go, yes. Tomorrow you are to go to Galloway. With Cospatrick. And a small force. We have heard that the Earls Paul and Erland of Orkney have arrived there. At Kirk Cuthbert's Town. Erland is often there. He calls himself governor of Galloway. But Paul seldom ventures south of the Hebrides. So this is unusual. And he is said to have brought many longships and men. Something is afoot, winter though it is. I want to know what. And to have it stopped, if it is to my hurt."

  "But. . . why? Why me? If there is trouble in Galloway, you need an army ..."

  "I cannot spare an army for Galloway. Meantime. I have William to consider. Perhaps Olaf of Norway."

  "What am I to do, then? With this small force?"

  "With the force, nothing. Or little. That is for Cospatrick. I do not esteem you one of my most experienced soldiers, cousin, knight or none! Whereas Cospatrick is that — whatever else he is! No, you are to keep watch on our kinsman Cospatrick. I do not trust him. You will be my eyes on him."

  "But. . ."

  "But nothing, boy! He must be watched. He seems to think well of you. You are kin
, to both of us. He will accept you, where he would not others. Heed you, in some measure, perhaps. The more if you are knight, it may be. Restrain himself."

  "Why send him then, at all? Whom you cannot trust."

  "Use your wits — if you have any! Galloway is in Strathciyde. As is Cumbria. Cospatrick has links there, influence. He is Lord of Allerdale, in Cumberland. His brother Waltheof mac Maldred, is in name my governor of Cumbria — little use as he is! I cannot spare an army to go to Galloway. So one must be raised there, or thereabouts. To counter these sons of Thorfinn. If they intend trouble. Cospatrick can do that better than any. And he is a fair soldier. Better, more experienced than Paul or Erland. And I do not think he will change sides this time. They have little to offer him. Whereas I have promised him an earldom here. To make up for Northumbria."

  Maldred shook his head. "I cannot but think that another would serve your purposes better, Highness."

  "By God's mercy Scotland is not dependent on your thinking, boy! Leave that to me."

  "Watch Cospatrick over Man," Angus put in. "He might choose to fish in those drumly waters, I think."

  "Man? What of Man?"

  "Sufficient. Godfrey Crovan the Pale-Blooded, is in Man. Fled there. A hard man and a fighter. Son to Harald the Black, of Islay. The other Godfrey, Olafson, King of Dublin and Man, is weak, sickly, some say dying. So Godfrey Pale-Blooded will grasp Man if he can, nothing more sure. For his father is bastard brother of King Godfrey. And being an Islesman, from Islay, he owes allegiance to Orkney. What better way to gain Man than by bringing a Manx force to aid his lords in Galloway — weakening Man thereby; then to return with Orkney support, and take over Man?"

  "A mercy — all that? And what of Cospatrick?"

  "They are friends, Cospatrick and Godfrey Crovan. Have fought many times on the same field. They were together at Stamford Bridge — when Godfrey was wounded and King Harald Hardradi of Norway slain. If Cospatrick is thinking of changing sides again, he could well do it over Godfrey Crovan and Man."

  "And then change again, slay Godfrey and take Man for himself!" Malcolm added sardonically.

  "And I am to bridle this, this treacherous mount!" Maldred exclaimed.

  "Watch him, constrain him, be ever at his elbow," the King said. "Earn your knighthood! Off with you, now. Prepare. I shall see you in the morning. Before you move off."

  In his doubts, Maldred went seeking his brother Madach. As all too often nowadays he found him in company with Magda of Ethanford.

  "Are you commanded to go to Galloway tomorrow? With this force of Cospatrick's?" he demanded.

  "Galloway? Cospatrick? No. What is this?"

  "It is some strange venture of the King's." He explained the situation. "But why send me? You would have been better, more experienced. And the same kin."

  "I have my own command, of our Athollmen. Part of his main array. There is a difference, man."

  "There is something else. He would make me knight. Before we go. The, the bait to the hook!"

  "Knight, Maldred? You? Splendid!" Magdalen cried. "Well-deserved, I say!"

  Madach, who had been a knight for a couple of years, grinned. "As well now as ever. If it is not to be on the field of battle. Malcolm is not usually so amiable. He must think well of you. Better than I believed."

  "That is where it is so strange — I do not think that he does. He mocks me always, now."

  "It is but his way. Be thankful."

  "But. . . should I accept?"

  "Accept? A God's good name, why not?"

  Maldred glanced at Magda. His doubts over his monarch were not for her ears. "Knighthood is . . . especial. To be held in honour. It must be received in honour, and given in honour. Not, not..."

  "Honour? What more do you want, man? So be it the King honours you, what is your complaint?"

  "I would rather be knighted . . . otherwise."

  "Then you are a fool! Knighthood is knighthood, however bestowed and whoever the bestower. It is being a knight that is important, not who knighted you."

  "Should not a man greatly respect the hand which holds the sword?"

  "Watch your words, brother!" Madach warned. "Men have died for less than that. I say, grasp the accolade while you may. Besides, you dare not make refusal of the King's offer. As well spit in his face! Take it and be thankful. Forby, if Malcolm does not knight you, who else is like to do so? Tell me that."

  Slowly Maldred picked his words. "As I understand it, any knight can make a knight. Only a knight can do so — but the right is with any who has himself been knighted."

  "Save us — what are you at? That may be so, as a notion. But in practice only kings, princes and the very great ones, with commanders in the field, do so. What is this?"

  "You may think me foolish. But... I feel at odds with Malcolm. Once I am made knight, I am so for all my days. I would not wish for so great a matter to be spoiled. For me. Because of this."

  "Maldred — you should not throw away the King's knighting because you find fault with the King," Magda said. "If all did that, there would be few knights! Do not refuse this."

  "There, there is a way out, I think. If Madach was to knight me first!"

  "Wha-a-at! Saints save us — what madness is this?"

  "None," Maldred assured, earnestly. "See you, this is for my own mind only, my mind's peace. None other would know — save only Magda here. After my vigil. Do it secretly. Then I know, in my heart, that I have been knighted by a true man, a true knight. Whom I respect. So that afterwards I can go before the King and receive his stroke of the sword. Before all. It will not matter, then. No harm in that — the second accolade. It will not wipe out the first and true one. But it will ease my mind. None will know, only ourselves."

  "Dear God — what a brother I have! To think of this. Why should I do this, take this risk? If the King were to find out. . . !"

  "I swear never to tell anyone. It would cost you nothing."

  "Do it for him, Madach," the girl said. "A secret, between us."

  The older brother looked from one to the other. He shrugged. "It is a folly. But, so long as none hear of it, I suppose there is no hurt in it. Very well — come to me in the morning, before you see the King..."

  So that February night of 1070, Maldred kept his vigil. The Celtic Church had its own relaxed way of dealing with this, as with other ceremonial — for knighthood was a religious as much as a military state, in theory at least. Not being building-bound like the Romish faith, nightlong kneeling before a high altar was not required; but instead the postulant was expected to go off alone to quiet places and meditate with his Maker — if he could — on the meaning and significance of the new phase of his life he was about to enter, on service to an ideal of chivalry, of defence of true religion, of respect for women, of upholding of justice, of cherishing the weak and helpless and of eschewing cowardice, corruption and treachery at all times. When he had finally meditated on all this to the extent of his capacity — and it was recognised that all, military men in especial, had not the ability for unduly lengthy silent communion on the verities — the candidate was to take himself to some holy spot and there, facing the east, take his solemn vow to carry it all out, God aiding him, to his life's end. He was then considered fit to receive the accolade.

  So Maldred went wandering on the Fothrif Moor above Dunfermline on a windy night of showers and a fitful half-moon, amongst the whins and short heather and outcropping rocks. He did not find the deliberate meditating easy. Natural and spontaneous thought was one thing, but forcing himself to deep and continuing consideration on an abstract theme he found all but impossible. But he tried, came to recognise that he was in fact thinking of nothing very apposite in particular and of everything, haphazard, in general, and sorrowfully came to the conclusion that this was not for him.

  So he turned and wended his way back over the rough and difficult terrain to a stone-circle on which he had recently stumbled — there were three or four of these dotted over the high
and desolate moorland ridge. Here, in the centre, facing east to the tall index-stone, he sank to his knees and promised his Creator to at least try to fulfil all these lofty conceptions and ideals — while seeking to shut out of his mind's-eye the all-too-clear picture of King Malcolm, the fount of honour, trampling over that unhappy Wearmouth peasant-woman's ravaged body, on his horse, and other similar incidents, surrounded by his knighted warriors. Was it only high-born ladies of one's own nation to whom the protective vows applied? Justice to be upheld only in law-courts? Religion to be fought for only as policy? If this amounted to unsuitable meditation, he prayed for forgiveness. That he did so here in an ancient stone-circle, no doubt Margaret Atheling would brand as heretical and a return to paganism. But much honest worship had been offered up in such a spot, however misguided, and therefore surely it was holy? As holy* anyway, as knighthood conferred by such a monarch?

  He found his way back to his cell at St. Ternan's thereafter, soon after midnight, deciding that this was as much vigilising as he was fit for — and -slept with his usual alacrity.